The Feast of San Gennaro
by DeadRabbit92
Summary: Five years after the Yakavetta trial, the Saints return to do a quick clean up at a sit-down between two major crime families. One lowlife survives because of a suprising familial relation. Rated T for language. One Shot. Cannon with movies mostly.


SET UP

**It has been over five years since the Yakavetta Trial. That day was supposed to end all the crap and finally give the streets of Boston back to the good and the righteous. However, in only a few months the neighborhood gangs forgot what they had been afraid of and re-formed. Soon after the gangs reestablished themselves, the more powerful crime organizations set up shop all around Boston, vying for power. The violence that ensued was the worst anyone has seen in near twenty years and the civilian casualties were piling up. After four years, the DiDona crime syndicate had eliminated all of its competition and absorbed the smaller operations. The Family and boss, Amerigo were untouchable…until tonight. The major figures in the Family: Francis Amerretto, Tony Pesce, and Benedetto Fuscili came together with their underlings to have a sit down with the Avanti Family, of Baltimore. Together, the two controlled the majority of the criminal underworld on the East Coast. Bad blood had boiled between the two bosses, starting with the hijacking of a Didona truck on its way down to Miami by some goons associated with Avanti. After months of retaliations and bloodshed, both had finally agreed to a sit down in a secluded warehouse owned by Amerretto to discuss terms and business. Neither Boss believed that such secrecy was necessary as the cops had been operating with their thumbs up their asses for months without any real evidence against any of them. Actually, both feared getting whacked by the other more than the police showing up tonight-which was the reason both had brought extra men for protection. It seemed they had forgotten what happened before. They had forgotten the Saints were always watching….**

"So you're telling me that a pair of fucking boogeymen popped by a secret sit-down between two of most powerful crime families in the country and murdered all the major players and their lackies in what- two minutes?" Sergeant Colm Kerrigan, seventeen years on the force, was furious to say the least. After months of investigation, hundreds of man-hours, and the death of two informants, his division had finally managed to put a case together that would put the whole lot of the Didona family away for a very long time. To add to his eminent triumph, through a tip-off, his office received the information that the heads of the Avanti family were coming in town to meet with Amerigo and his goons on the feast of San Gennaro. A raid on such a meeting could mean bringing down the Avanti family as well. His fury then, at breaking down the door of a certain warehouse to find a bloody massacre had taken place with one sniveling low life still alive, was very understandable.

"Actually it was more like thirty seconds, but I wasn't counting-I was hiding."

"Alright, let me tell you what _I _know." Kerrigan opened the file on the table in front of him and read, "You're Daniel "The Joker" Rocco. Arrested three times, once for public drunkenness, once for breaking and entering and once for theft. You're a real piece of shit, Rocco. I spoke to some colleagues down in Baltimore; they say you recently got on their list of known low-levels in the Avanti Family. How is it exactly you ended up at a sit-down here in Boston with top-dogs I doubt you were ever important enough or trusted enough to every actually meet directly?"

"Well…uh, my buddy told me that D'Angelo, our capo, was calling in the whole crew to be muscle at some meet up in Boston. I didn't know the particulars until after we left. Said that there was no risk of getting pinched, which is funny now that I think of it, but to be ready cause some shit might go down. And, man, did some _shit_ go down."

"Right. _The Saints_?" Kerrigan tilted his head skeptically.

"Yeah right, it was them."

"Alright, Rocco, tell me how it went from the beginning. I want to be able to clip each piece of bullshit as it comes out of your mouth."

"Okay, asshole, it went like this…"

_ It was chilly in the dimly lit warehouse, abnormally cold for mid-September night. The cement floor was mostly covered by stacks of boxes and machinery, except for the center where about twenty five people congregated. A few of them were sitting in folding chairs facing another few sitting in similar folding chairs. The rest stood, armed, behind each row of the seated men, glaring at their counter-parts across from them. So far, the meet had lasted almost two hours and showed no sign of ending anytime soon. As soon as one issue was resolved, another would arise about gun shipments, territory boundaries, and restitutions that needed to be paid. To "The Joker" Rocco, the scene could be summed up as one fat fuck yelling at another fat fuck, voices getting louder and louder the longer they were sitting uncomfortably the metal chairs that were way to small for their own fat asses. _

_ Rocco regretted going along on this job immensely. He was terrified that someone would lose their cool and he'd end up getting shot. Rocco was fucking paranoid about getting shot; it seemed everyone he knew had been shot, even some of his own family. He knew his number was up and it made his jumpy. Everyone in this room was potentially someone who could be the someone to put a bullet in his ass. Adding that to the fact that his feet had been aching from standing on the cold concrete for two hours meant Rocco could think of a whole lot of places he'd rather be tonight. Hell, it was San Gennaro, he could run up to New York and get a cannoli._

_ As Rocco was dreaming pastry cream and as Amerigo was demanding payment for the fire started in his sister's hair salon on underboss Gallo's orders, a crash sounded from somewhere in the warehouse. In an instant, everyone's guns were out and Amerigo and Avanti Don Vincent Tartaglia were shouting out orders to their men to find the intruder. Rocco was looking around frantically, pointing his gun at shadows, until one of the shadows moved. Rocco shouted that he saw the bastards as the Avanti soldier next to him fell to the floor, a bloody hole through his head. He aimed his gun where he saw the movement, but nothing was there. Shots rang out, aiming at another shadow on a wall that darted behind a lift truck as the concrete exploded behind it. Rocco decided to hell with the boss and this shit and jumped behind a steel beam, watching as the disappearing and reappearing shadows dodged every bullet fired their way, and at the same time, more mobster bodies fell to the ground. _

"So it went from a pair of vigilante madmen shooting up the place to being peter-fucking-pan flying around with his shadow. You should have started with that angle from the get-go, Rocco, I think I woulda believed it more than the "Saints" nonsense you started with. " Kerrigan laughed loudly.

"I'M TELL YOU IT WAS THEM!" Rocco shouted, actually looking more angry now than nervous.

"How do you even know what they look like? They didn't operate in Baltimore, did they? Even if you saw them on the news, there were no police sketches of their 'shadows'."

_ Soon after it began, it was over. Rocco stayed still as stone behind his pole, but could see the pool of blood began to seep towards his white sneakers. He prayed that whoever had decided to crash this little shindig and _


End file.
